


When the Children Are Asleep

by Thistlerose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Family, Married Couple, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 05:46:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas, 1981.  Somehow, Arthur and Molly find a peaceful moment.  Written in 2004.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Children Are Asleep

“ _He didn’t do it, all right, so just shut the bloody hell up!_ ”

Arthur Weasley heard his eldest son’s booming voice from the living room, two stories below. It was followed a moment later by his next eldest son’s cracking tones:

“ _If he didn’t do it, how come he hasn’t bloody denied it? It’s been almost two bloody months! You’re just embarrassed because you used to think he was cool!_ ”

“Boys!” Molly’s voice was shrill. “I won’t have that language! Be quiet or you’ll wake Ronnie!”

Arthur sighed and looked down at his four-month-old daughter, who blinked her blue eyes up at him owlishly. “Thank you for being a girl,” he told her, smiling. “Merlin knows I love my boys, but six is quite enough. It was about time for a girl. Too many generations without girls, and look what we Weasleys have become. Loud, ill-mannered…”

He was interrupted by the arrival of his third son. Percy’s pajamas were rumpled and his hair was disheveled, as though he had just risen from bed. He stood in the doorway clutching a handful of grey fur to his chest, and whined, “Dadd _eee_. Tell the twins to _leave me alone._ They keep trying to steal Scabbers. He’s _scared_.” The handful of fur twitched and a tiny whiskered snout poked between Percy’s small fingers, identifying it as a rather bedraggled rat. 

Arthur heard snickering and glanced up at the staircase behind Percy. Freddy and George crouched in the shadows. Their eyes glittered in the light from the fireplace. Not yet four years old, they were already displaying a penchant for mischief and mayhem. “Scabbers,” they said together in a singsong. “Scabbersscabbersscabbers…”

Arthur gathered himself for an admonition. At that moment, though, Bill shouted at Charlie, “ _She is_ not _my girlfriend! Shut the bloody hell up!_ ”

The twins looked eat each other. Identical grins sprawled across their faces. They nodded once, then turned and scuttled back up the stairs muttering, “Girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend…”

Arthur turned back to Percy. “You’ve been reprieved,” he said amusedly. The boy still looked wary. He clutched the rat protectively. “Better get him away,” Arthur said gently, “before your mummy comes down and catches you with him.”

“ _You_ said I could keep him,” Percy reminded him.

“I know. And you can. Just give your mummy a little more time to get used to the idea of a rat in the house.” _A year or two,_ he thought, _might do it._ “Come on,” he said, starting to rise, “back to bed with you. You can help me put Ginny to bed first.”

The youngest Weasley slept in a basinet in her parents’ bedroom. How long the current sleeping arrangements would remain the same, Arthur did not know. Molly’s sixth pregnancy had come as a surprise. While Bill and Charlie were content – most of the time – to share a bedroom during the holidays, Arthur wondered how long that would last. Bill was sixteen, Charlie nearly fourteen. The twins shared a room, as did Percy and young Ronnie. Perhaps, Arthur thought, he ought to start thinking of ways to expand the Burrow. He’d have to draw up plans, and have them approved… When the snow cleared. He had enough projects to fill the remaining winter months. He’d promised new beds for Percy and the twins; Bones from the Ministry had given him a Muggle camera as an early Christmas present, and he wanted to tinker with it; he still had to add Ginny’s name to the enchanted grandfather clock; and two months after their fall, his department was still cleaning up after the Death Eaters. 

With a weary sigh, Arthur bent toward Percy and handed the baby girl to him. Percy, who had stuffed Scabbers into his pajama pocket, accepted his sister gently. She whimpered, but he rocked her in his arms, and by the time he placed her in the basinet, she had quieted. 

“The twins would’ve made her cry,” he said proudly, as he tucked the woolen blanket around her. 

“Probably,” said Arthur. “But they like noise.”

“The twins are stupid,” Percy remarked, with an air of superiority.

“No, they’re not. They’re very clever. They’re just loud.”

As though they needed proof, there was thump overheard, and Bill shouted, “ _Get the bloody hell—_ ”

“ _Bill!_ ”

“It was the twins, Mum!” Charlie protested. 

“I don’t care! That language!”

What sounded like a small stampede preceded the twins’ arrival in the doorway of their parents’ bedroom. Percy looked at them scornfully.

Arthur said firmly, “ _Bed._ All of you. Now. Or there won’t be any Christmas cookies tomorrow.” When the three boys eyed him dubiously, he added, “And if you wake your sister or your little brother, I’ll take down the Christmas tree.”

“No!” George protested.

“You can’t,” wailed Freddy.

“I can,” said Arthur, and his tone left no room for argument, though his gaze was not stern. “I have the authority. To bed. Now.”

They disappeared so quickly, it was as though they had Disapparated. Arthur leaned over the basinet and kissed his daughter’s soft forehead. She wriggled in her sleep, but Arthur remained very still, and held his breath, and she did not wake. She looked like a little butterfly, Arthur thought as he straightened. Fresh from her chrysalis, her wings still wet and folded about her. A butterfly with bright red fuzz instead of antennae. Smiling, Arthur went out into the corridor, and closed the bedroom door behind him quietly.

Molly was there, standing at the foot of the stairs. The corridor was dimly lit, but Arthur could see that she was weary.

“You know,” she said, “seven is really a very _small_ number.”

“When you’re talking about grains of sand,” Arthur replied. He held his arms out to her. She filled them, and they held each other. In the dim, cold silence, Arthur heard the wind rattling the tree branches, and sliding across the snow. High above, he heard the ghoul banging away on the pipes. He would have to have a word about that… He also heard his wife’s heart beating against his chest, and he felt the warmth of her plump, soft body. 

At length she stirred, and murmured against his neck, “You know, this is the first Christmas we’ve been safe, for almost as long as I can remember. The kids can play in the snow tomorrow, if they won’t, and we won’t have to ward the back garden. I don’t feel safe, though. I think I’m just so used to being afraid.”

Arthur stroked her hair. “That will pass, I imagine. You-Know-Who was at large for so long… But now he’s gone. His followers are in Azkaban, including the traitor, Black…”

“Bill still thinks-”

“Bill will get over it. The Ministry doesn’t send innocent men to Azkaban. And thirteen corpses are impossible to ignore. Even if most of them were Muggles,” he added sourly. Molly shuddered, so he cut off his usual tirade against the Ministry.

“All those people,” Molly murmured. “Those poor people. And poor little Harry Potter. All alone…”

“Nonsense,” Arthur assured his wife. “He’s been placed with his Muggle relatives. I’m sure he’s perfectly fine.”

“But without his parents. I do wish… Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. He’s safe and warm, poor boy.”

Arthur put his hands on her waist and drew her to the window. The glass was frosted. Arthur breathed against it, and in the resultant cloud, traced with his finger the legend A.W. + M.P. He drew a heart around the letters.

“Speaking of boys,” said Molly wryly, but she smiled up at him. 

Arthur cupped her plump cheek. “My pretty,” he said softly. “My sweet.”

“My fool,” said Molly. “I use to call you that, when we were courting, remember? You liked it.”

“Only because it was _you_ saying it. And you still call me that,” Arthur reminded her. He twisted a lock of her fiery hair around his finger. “What else did I say to you?”

“We were meant to be happy,” Molly replied, a dreamy note in her voice. “You were never meant to be rich or to keep your hair, but we were meant to be happy together.” She sighed.

“Are you happy?” Arthur asked her solemnly, though he thought he knew her answer. “My pretty, my sweet.”

She tipped her head to one side. The gesture, and the dim light coming through the frosted glass made her look ten years younger. “I’m still scared,” she admitted. “And sad. I’ll feel better in the morning, when it’s light, and the children are all awake.”

Arthur kissed her forehead. “You know…I _could_ try to make you feel better while the children are asleep…”

“Arthur!”

“My dear…” He laughed. “After _seven…?_ ”

“Speaking of which,” said Molly, “our seventh is asleep in our room.”

“Oh. Right.” Arthur frowned, disappointed. He brightened a moment later. “What about right out here?”

“In the corridor!” Molly sounded scandalized and amused simultaneously. “The children,” she hissed. “If they hear something… Percy’s always in the toilet…”

Arthur threw his hands in the air. “Can I _kiss_ you, at least?”

Molly appeared to consider this. “You may,” she replied at last, primly.

So Arthur took her by the waist again and pulled her close. He tipped her head back and kissed her lips. “I think we’ll be all right,” he said. And kissed her again. 

12/11/04


End file.
